The Bravehymn
by Oldboy Webre
Summary: The Bravehymn Clan was forgotten, betrayed by Fate. A shaman arises from the ashes to claim redemption, eye for eye and tooth for tooth...it is the only way he has ever known. Eye for eye, tooth for tooth this IS his path...right?
1. Chapter 1: Dream

79 years ago—Blade's Edge Mountains

The Elder Shinsen took a long look at his surroundings. Two orcs, mounted on wolves, rushed toward his bleak form. He turned slowly and faced them. The comrades dismounted and bowed deeply. The first spoke in a deep, calm voice. "Our shamans tell us the Warsong Clan is advancing. You too, must know this; what must we do?" The second broke in with a rough, coarse voice. "We await your command." The Elder stood for a moment, lost in thought, then shifted his weight in an attempt to relieve the armor's mass. Who'd have thought it would come to this…? Damn! One by one, his allies were falling…he grunted. "What else is there left to do?'

He mounted the wolf beside him. He looked down into the valley the cliff overlooked, and saw the seas and oceans of brown-skinned orcs below. He looked out at the horizon, where a bobbing, black line of forms was beginning to erupt. Then he looked at the sky, the heavens, into the graces of God himself. He took a deep breath.

Then he let it out in one raucous roar. "Up and at 'em, boys! Our brothers have betrayed us!" Sorrowed screams and warlike chants rose up from the ranks of the army below. They began to mount wolves, and slowly began their march to the enemy. The coarse-voiced orc growled out his message…"Was it wise to meet them here?" The second chimed in. "Indeed…the draenei in Terokkar were happy to offer us a portal, but…" Shinsen silenced them. "And give them a chance to defile the plains of Nagrand, or our Homeland? I do not intend to." He turned and raced down the cliff's steep path. The level-voiced orc stirred in admiration. "the Elder is fearless. You'd think he would be more cautious at his old age…three hundred cycles isn't something just anyone experiences." The coarse one grunted once more. "He has seen much, and for all he knows, this could be his last battle…" his voice broke off in a strange pang of suffering, like that of an injured man. He coughed hoarsely. His companion grabbed his shoulder. "Ro'gash, you alright?" He took a sharp breath as his comrade's skin seemed to turn a darker shade of brown. "I…I'm alright."

Tunes of clashing steel erupted from the two armies. Black blood, red blood…they fell on the dusty plains and intertwined. The crimson-skinned Warsong Clan and the Terra-Cotta Blazehound Clan met in frenzied battle. In the screaming chaos of the battle stood the elder, hands aflame with lightning, the "White Fire". Hurling flash after flash of glorious thunder, the Elder roared in a mix of bestial strength and devastating sorrow. The two Comrades stood back to back, surrounded by foes. Ro'gash Warhowl, poised with his jagged axes, roared in anticipation. His brother, Ra'mish, started. Such acts were uncommon of his brother. He swallowed the remnants of fear, lifted his chin, furrowed his brow, and answered the call with his own. Grinning with the confidence of adrenaline, he lifted his heavy axe. As the enemy rushed at him, he brought it down.

The Elder slowly pulled back, breathing heavily, devoid of mana. He almost felt like just sleeping in death's embrace, though he was not injured. Suppressing the urge like he had for hundreds of years, he opened his eyes…to a horrid and startling revelation.

His warriors, his brothers, his sons! He watched them slowly turn from the color of the barren cliffs of the Hellfire Peninsula to that of the darkest trees of Terokkar Forest. A realization slowly began to dawn on him. DAMN! Forget the mana! He drew the two of the four axes at his sides, and rushed in to the heat of the fight.

The Comrades were holding up, back to back, one by one. They stood in a growing pool of black, turned more and more with every drop of corrupted blood they drew from their foes. All of a sudden, Ro'gash buckled down in a frenzied moan. Ra'mish, startled and confused, acted with sudden instinct. In a broad sweep of his axe he cut down the two orcs rushing forth, and used the same momentum to cut down the three preparing to end the life of his brother. His enemies, startled, stalled, and Ra'mish quickly dropped to his knees to meet his brother face-to-face. He held Ro'gash's head to meet his eyes. The face that stared back shocked him. The dark green that his brother had become somewhere mid-fight was slowly fading to green. The blue shimmer in his eyes was turning to a bloody scarlet glow. He coughed up blood, and began to speak, his voice coarser than ever before… "I feel it…they have defeated me in ways that weapons cannot. They have corrupted my soul in their presence, and cut it out in their blood…end it, that I may die as, at least, an orc…" The words made Ra'mish tremble. At the sound of a roar, he started and flicked his axe through the chest of some Warsong clansman. Ro'gash coughed again, drawing his brother's attention once more. He clasped the necklace around his neck, red and white beads along intertwined threads of fur. He ripped it off, the beads scattering on the ground, into the blood. He grimaced. "…do it."

When the Elder made his way well into the fight, he found Ra'mish standing over the body of his decapitated brother, and over the scattered beads of his necklace. The Elder's clasped teeth eased into a sorrowed line. The oldest rite of passage—that of pain.

Shinsen had no time to waste. Though Ra'mish and the rest of his warriors would not fall as easily as Ro'gash, one by one they were starting to fall to the same horrid corruption that had taken the Warsong Clan. Despite the intense heat, Shinsen shivered. Demons…they'd finally got back at the Clan. They'd been hunting them down for generations, since the first angels began defecting from the Army of the Lord…snapping back to reality, he cut down three more Warsong clansmen. Blood, blood, everywhere…Shinsen rushed forward. Every step the Elder took was received by a wave of the enemy's blood. Blood, blood…it occupied his thoughts as his body continued its rigorous motions… blood, blood…

His stomach lurched. He began to realize that he was not invincible to the enemy's corruption. It had tried to touch him in that moment…

He closed his eyes and rejected the rushing feelings and emotions they posed against him.

When he opened them, the Warsong Clan was gone, gone in a flash of warlocks' black summons.

Instead, he faced a new enemy—the writhing forms of his men, deep green in color, clutching at their bellies. He backed up, panting, breathing…it was too late. His eyes suddenly snapped to the one standing figure on the field. Relief and tension flooded through him at the same time. He knew what must be done. He grasped Ra'mish's arm and pulled him atop his wolf. There would not be much time.


	2. Chapter 2: Blood

The young Orcish child awoke in frenzy, his dark green skin glistening with beads of sweat. The elders of the Clan told him that visions were natural for shamans-to-be, though unprecedented at the young age of seven. Some said it was a sign—seven _was_ the number of God, just as six was the number of the Beast. Why, though…why of such horrid things? Of blood and battle, merciless slaughter?

Something deep in his gut seemed to move, anxious, laughingly. He gazed at his skin…his visions told him enough to hate its tone and color. He shivered, feeling trapped in his own hide, and rose to his feet. As a grandson of Ra'mish and a descendent of Shinsen, he had to keep strong and save face. A new day waited him in Un'Goro Crater.

He walked to the Fields with a sickle and a knife. Well, 'field' was a term the Blazehound Clan had given to this part of the Crater. It was more of a heavily-wooded jungle, filled with useful plants and the occasional crystal, which the Clan used to crest their ornate weapons used for traditional ceremonies. Of course, in addition to such treasures hidden in the Fields, there were beasts of untold cruelty and image. The boy grimaced as his eyes fell to his hands. Not that his broken form was any better than theirs. At least they were pure of corruption…

His eyes snapped to the job at hand, and his body snapped behind a root as one such creature passed him by. The boy's eyes showed no fear. He had seen worse in his visions. Though his eyes had seen nothing beyond the Crater, Ra'mish's eyes had.

The boy, looking for a threat and finding none, rushed at the glowing red crystal resting upon the cliffs on the other side of the Crater. Using his dull-sided bone knife, an old family relic supposedly passed down by Ro'gash himself, he crisply cut off a few select shards and placed them in the sack that lay at his waist. Despite the flat edge of his knife, crystals were easy to cut as long as you could notice the 'fault lines.'

His eyes flicking in each direction, he cut a few herbs from the ground and turned to rush to the roots of the tree that was the center of the Crater…and stared into a grinning, toothed mouth.

He could barely breathe. Every aspect of this horrid creature sickened him. Its pale, yellow hide, its pink underbelly, its burning red eyes, its wretched spines… the creature reared up its neck, and in a split second of tension, he watched as its head seemed to block out the little sunlight that breached the lofty trees' leaves…and then it crashed to eye-level in a bloodthirsty roar.

The boy drew his knife on instinct, and his sickle as well. He began to panic. He didn't know any spells. Hell, shamans didn't learn how to use two weapons until they were well into their path. But here he stood, with useless weapons, without spells, orc versus beast. He took a deep, sharp breath, and rushed.

His enemy was not expecting that. It reared back in surprise but quickly lowered its head once more, and snapped the orc's sickle away, taking his arm with it. Screaming in pain, the boy dropped his knife. His foe closed for the kill, head lowered, stubby arms poised, back arched, legs pounding through the Crater's black soil. Shinsen lifted his arm above his head palm up in instinct, as if to defend himself with merely one limb. In that moment, his bag of shards fell to the floor, crashing against the dull edge of the knife. In that moment, red light shined. In that moment, mana poured from the crystals like water from the rock. And in that moment, the boy did something unseen for over fifty years.

A flash of light. A crackle of electricity. A moan of pain...and the vile beast fell at the boy's small feet, and slowly sank into the tar. Panting and confused, he picked up his sack, leaving the crystal shards there, and bounded home. His mother would scream at him for crushing the crystals, but he'd had enough for one day.

As the boy approached the gate, he slowed to a walk, and tried to catch his breath, but the blood loss was making it impossible. The boy clutched his arm, his right arm, his good arm…or where it used to be. He stumbled, weak, to his mother, the Clan's healer-shaman. He collapsed at his mother's feet, hearing her voice fade away slowly…

"Shinsen…? Shinsen…!"


End file.
